Dead Men Walking
by Phx
Summary: A tag to 'All Hell Breaks Loose II'. Bobby can't sleep and he isn't the only one... Encore chapter added, just cause I needed a little Dean and Sam moment :
1. Chapter 1

**A brief 'All Hell Breaks Loose II' tag - a conversation between Sam and Bobby because I think Bobby cares about both those boys... If you haven't seen the season 2 finale, don't read this because there are definite spoilers! **

**Dead Men Walking**

Bobby Singer wasn't surprised to find a Winchester sitting at his kitchen table and staring forlornly into a cold cup of coffee at 2 am. What he was surprised about though was that it was Sam.

Although, given the copious amount of whiskey the elder Winchester had consumed in his post-YED demise celebration Bobby realized he shouldn't' have been…

The older hunter stood in the doorway and watched the younger man for a few moments, not quite convinced that Sam didn't know he was there. However, the kid never said anything and that afforded Bobby an opportunity to appraise him uninterrupted.

The first thing he noticed was that the youngster was in pain. He could tell by the way in which Sam's hand, the one resting on the edge of the table, tightened and curled almost spasmodically. And by the tight little inhales and exhales Sam made as he breathed, the rhythm controlled and deliberate. It reminded Bobby of a bitch breathing through a pup whelping, and he sighed.

Guess you didn't come back from the dead after getting a hole in your back without some sort of discomfort…

Oh well, pain relief was one thing the wise old hunter could do.

Soundlessly, he continued on into the kitchen, crossed to the cupboard and opened it. He felt Sam's eyes on his back.

They burned with pain and he shivered under the intensity.

His hand lingered between codeine and morphine but decided on the codeine. He knew 'morphine Sam' and didn't think it would be fair to put either of them through that tonight. Bobby was terrified about what might spill, unguarded, from the young warrior's mouth… There were just too many hurts there to deal with at 2 in the morning.

Wordlessly, he tapped out two pills and then offered them to Sam. The kid stared blankly at him for a moment and Bobby was struck by the raw emotion he saw in those soulful hazel eyes. The youngest Winchester felt too much for a hunter, an open heart and hopeful spirit making him too easily vulnerable, and to see it now, laid so bare and coupled with a wearying weight made Bobby ache for them all.

Finally, and with a seemingly great effort, Sam took the pills and dry swallowed them, taking a drink of cold coffee only as an afterthought.

"Thanks," the softly spoken word broke the silence. Sam held Bobby's gaze a moment longer and then sighed and turned his attention downwards. Apparently Bobby's kitchen table was absolutely fascinating at this time of night…

"Your back?" the older man offered after a few moments; conversation preferable to the suffocating silence, although he had no idea what else to say.

Under all his gruff and grout, Bobby truly cared; feeling an inexplicable responsibility for John's two youngsters and it pained him to see the lengths to which they had been driven.

Dead men walking… the two of them…

"Yeah," the answer was breathed out. Sam shifted slightly in the seat.

Bobby reached back into his cupboard and pulled out a flask. He sat down across from Sam and guzzled down a 'night cap'. Normally he'd offer the kid a swig – not that the boy ever accepted, that wasn't the point – but not tonight. Not with codeine.

"Your brother asleep?" he asked needlessly. Roof raising snores answered the question. And so did Sam.

"Yeah," Sam repeated as a fond smile ghosted briefly over his pale face. "Like a baby…" A particularly loud snore punctuated his statement and Sam amended, a sheepish blush coloring his cheeks. "A _loud_, drunken baby."

Bobby snorted softly and then scrubbed his face with his hand, at a loss what else to say. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam's shoulders slump a little more as the codeine started to work and exhaustion threatened to press him to the floor. The kid should be in bed. They both should be.

"I know about the deal," the older man just suddenly blurted out, surprising himself as much as his young guest. He hadn't meant to say anything. It just came out.

"Oh." Okay so Sam's response was rather underwhelming. He had recovered from the shock of the statement more quickly than Bobby had though and Bobby was the one who'd said it. But then the young man stretched out his long legs under the table and leaned back in the chair, his eyes closed briefly as he snorted softly and shook his head. "I should have figured as much – after all you were the one who sewed me back together… Great work by the way." The smile Sam offered didn't quite meet his eyes.

Bobby winced. _Ouch_. "Uh. Yeah." The hunter scratched awkwardly at an itch behind his ear. Talk about awkward. He promised Dean not to say anything to Sam, but now that Sam knew that he knew and hadn't said anything to him – Jesus. Just thinking about it was giving him a headache. Now _he_ needed pain killers. "You know one of these days, you boys are going to be the death of me," he growled, his first line of defense – orneriness – kicking in.

An unreadable look passed across Sam's face and Bobby grimaced at his choice of words. God. He needed another drink.

Grabbing the flask, Bobby took a long swig, extremely conscious of how Sam was watching his every move. Shit, was he wearing something that belonged to the kid or something?

"You blame me," Sam suddenly spit out, startling the hunter who almost coughed as he swallowed. _What the f-?_ "For Dean making the deal..." He lowered his voice to a mere whisper. "I blame me."

Incredulous, Bobby just stared, mindful of the dribble of whisky on his chin but too stunned to wipe it off. Where the hell did Sam get his ideas? And then he glanced away briefly. Okay, maybe there was some small shred of truth there. But not really. Bobby didn't really blame Sam. It wasn't like Sam had tried to die or anything. It just sucked that he meant so much to his brother…

And that Dean meant so much to him.

Bobby already knew that if Sam couldn't save Dean, it would kill them both. The guilt of that failure would crush whatever was left of Sam after the deal was paid in full. After Dean was dead.

"It's okay though. I get it. I do. I shouldn't be here. I was dead. And what is it that Dean always says? Oh yeah – what's dead should stay dead -"

"Just not you," Bobby corrected finally prodded past his shock by the self-recrimination he heard in Sam's voice.

"Yeah." Sam snorted bitterly. "Lucky me."

"No actually," the older hunter countered, "Lucky us."

The youngest Winchester just shook his head, not getting it. Bobby shrugged, "If Dean hadn't done what he did, we'd have never known about Jake… and those gates of hell would have been a whole lot harder to close… That boy sold his soul to save us all."

Sam just stared at him but slowly, as he seemed to consider what Bobby said, his shoulders just dropped; he deflated. When he finally spoke again, his eyes shone brightly and his breath hitched – the older man felt something tighten in his own chest. "It wasn't worth it, Bobby… Not to me." He sniffed and glanced back down at Bobby's interesting table again. "I can't lose him too… I just… can't…"

A single tear baptized Sam's grief.

"Then don't," Bobby said, his voice more rough than usual. He held out the almost empty flask. _Damn the codeine_. The kid hesitated only a moment, than took the offering and emptied the whiskey down his throat. He coughed and then wiped his mouth before passing the flask back. "You got a year, Sam," Bobby reminded the youngster, "and you're not alone… We'll figure this out somehow…"

"And if we don't?"

In place of the confident young hunter that John Winchester raised, Bobby only saw a scared young man; Dean's little brother, and when the hunter finally answered, he surprised himself with the strength of his own conviction. "We _will._"

Bobby saw the hint of a small smile as Sam gave a slight nod of his head in conciliation.

"Good," the older hunter grunted and then pushed himself away from the table to stand, "Now what's say we call it a night? Saving your brother's ass is going to require some shuteye."

Sam actually flashed a true smile this time, double dimple action, if only for a brief moment but for now Bobby would take what he could get. "And it is such a big ass to save…" The kid rose too; his stiff and somewhat guarded movement the only thing attesting to his fatal injury now. Bobby hoped it wouldn't be permanent.

"You sound like your brother," the hunter grumbled, after all he had an image to uphold. There was no heat in his words though.

It earned him a slight laugh and a breathy, "Yeah I guess I do." And then Bobby turned around and blocked Sam's exit from the kitchen. He had one more thing to say:

"Look Sam, I might not agree with what Dean did but, just so you know… it is _damn_ good to have you back again." And then he turned and walked out of the kitchen before the kid could say anything else.

Now he could finally get some sleep.

The End 


	2. Chapter 2

**Oops, turns out there was supposed to be a second chapter. What can I say? I needed a little Sam and Dean time :)**

**Dead Men Walking**

**Part 2**

Sam lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. There were no shadows. No water stains. No dead mothers. No dead girlfriends. Nothing.

Just the ceiling in Bobby's spare room.

Sam and Dean's honorary bedroom.

_Sam and Dean..._

_Dean and Sam._

Sam swallowed hard –

In 364 days it might just be Sam.

Exhaling shakily, the young hunter closed his eyes. The codeine helped take the edge off the pain but his back still throbbed, a deep ache that went further than life.

But that wasn't the worst.

The worst was the bone numbing cold that pervaded almost all other emotion in his body, only succumbing to gut-twisting fear; a dual fear. For Dean… and for himself.

Dean snorted in his sleep and smacked his lips. He breathed out, _'Baby'_ and shifted on the bed. Sam held his breath afraid to steal this precious time from his brother. Time un-tormented.

Dean was going to hell…

If Sam couldn't save him.

Bobby's conviction hung loosely around him, not as comforting as it had been in the kitchen. It was harder here, in the dark, lying mere feet from his slumbering sibling, to take any reassurance against the suffocating reality that was his brother's sacrifice. Dean had given his very core to save Sam –

_And_ killed the demon that had haunted them for most of Sam's life.

All within 24 hours.

Wow…

Once again Sam was in awe of the man his brother was. And cowed by the responsibility that was now his; he had to save his brother.

Save Dean.

_Holy shit –_

Sam was on the floor in the bathroom dry heaving before he could consciously move. Thank God for quick reflexes and a bathroom right across the hall from their room.

How the hell had Dean survived the past year with that very same decree, willed to him with their father's death? _Save your brother_…

It was his brother's default setting, and a slap in Sam's face.

Dean _had_ saved him and in doing so he'd saved them all.

_How could Sam do anything less?_

"Hey," the husky sleep slurred voice startled him and the distressed young man lifted his head to see his brother leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. The gash on Dean's forehead stood out in stark contrast to his pale face. "Y'kay?"

Now that was a loaded question…

Sam spit into the toilet and then pushed himself up forcing unsteady legs to hold his weight. His shaky "Yeah" didn't sound very convincing though, even to him.

Dean didn't say anything. He just watched Sam for another moment as the younger man flushed the toilet and turned on the tap to get a drink. Sam's hands shook. Badly. Only then did the older man turn around and go back to their room.

Sam followed, unable to bear distance between them. He winced as he crawled into bed and lay back down, vaguely wondering at the tightness in his shoulder and then remembering. _Oh yeah, Superman had dislocated it with one punch. Ouch. _Dark humor twisted his mouth into an almost grin. It would seem the Grim Reaper had been kind enough to reset it for him. Apparently _Death_ held a medical degree…

The smile died on his lips. Hilarity was wasted and the young man shivered instead and carefully wrapped his arms around his body. _God, he was so cold. _

"So," his brother's quiet voice broke the silence. Sam heard more shifting and knew Dean was looking at him now.

He waited for the older man to continue but when he didn't, Sam sighed, "So? What?"

"So what was it?"

Sam was genuinely concerned. "So what was what?"

"You go to college for two years and this is the best you can come up with?" Dean grumbled. "Geez Sammy, I'm still half in the bag and even I know what I'm talking about!" Sam's throat closed on '_Sammy_'. "You sick or something?"

"I'm fine," Sam stretched the truth. There was nothing Dean could do to help him anyways. Nothing except still be alive 365 days from now.

"Yeah… and I'm Tiny Tim," came a rather disgruntled sounding rebuttal that brought a small smile to Sam's face.

"So I've heard," the younger brother couldn't help but tease back – and it felt _so_ good… so _normal_. For them.

"Hey!" disgruntled turned indignant. "No 'dissing Little Dean."

"_Little Dean_?" Okay this time Sam gave a genuine laugh, and God help him. It felt right. "I thought it was '_Tiny Tim_'."

"Only in your dreams," Dean smirked and then chuckled. "Actually… not even in your dreams."

"Oh yeah. Geez. Thanks, Dean. That is _exactly_ what I want to be dreaming about," the younger man snorted. His brain already fried on the image.

"Perv."

"Jerk."

"_Bitch."_

And that was it. Sam lost it.

He couldn't breath –

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room –

He panicked –

And then Dean was right there.

A warm hand – _warm_ – on his back, fingers thrumming heat through his chilled body…

His brother's voice – _the words unimportant_ – murmuring hot breath against his ear...

It was everything _Dean_ desperate to fix everything _Sammy_ –

And suddenly Sam could breathe again.

Twisting, Sam turned and wrapped his arms around his brother and held tight, gasping in deep soothing breaths of sweat, leather and rock-salt. _Dean. _

His brother stiffened and then relaxed, a resigned sigh breathed out in exasperation but there was no heat behind it. No heat that cooled anyway.

"Oh, Sammy…" Dean's voice was low and sounded oddly strangled, even as he returned the hug gently; less desperate but no less fervent. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm truly, honestly, sorry…"

Sam was confused and slowly pulled himself back. "Dean?" that one word held everything, neatly packaged. His hazel eyes searched his brother's face – _did Dean regret saving him?_

Dean let his arms drop. His eyes when they turned towards Sam were bloodshot from lack of sleep, grief, alcohol, but they were surprisingly clear. Coherent. "I'm sorry… that this is something I can't fix for you…" He reached out, his own fingers trembling lightly and placed a hand on either side of Sam's neck. He gave a gentle squeeze. The younger man closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This time his brother's heat burned him. "But I promise you this…" Sam forced himself to look again. "You are still my little brother… and as long as I'm around nothing bad is gonna happen to you."

The words warmed. And chilled. He had to ask. He had to know.

"What about after… after you're gone?" the words whispered past Sam's every defense, even more broken out than they had been in. His eyes filled and he no longer cared what his brother saw.

Dean deserved to know how much this hurt him.

How much Sam was terrified of losing him –

How much Sam needed him –

Of how much Sam loved him.

His brother smiled even as he thumbed the tears away. He knew. "Ain't going to happen, kiddo, cause you'll never let me go…" Dean's smile was contagious. "Besides which," and so was his snark, "hell's never going to be ready for Dean Winchester."

And Sam laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

_Truer words had never been spoken. _

It hurt his back and he winced and wished Bobby had given him morphine, but it also felt good. And for the first time since he woke up with a hole in his back, Sam was warm again.

He could do this.

He could save his brother.

Because he still had Dean to help him.

And then said brother remembered how drunk he was and passed out. On the floor.

**The Real End… this time!**


End file.
